Another one for Nubia, painter of my Heart

I sat with the horn blowing my heartfelt manifesto of the heart

Alone, ostracizing the self for loving and not telling

How do I paint a picture that scripts my closeness to her aptly?

Pulpitised by my desires the scriptures knows of my sins

The trumpet is a puppet of her voice as she paints verbs

I duck and swerve, keep quiet so that silence conceals admiration

Can I talk to you painter of volatile gestures, understand my madness

Let me shun King James’ version, yours and mine could be neo-renaissance

The cymbals, flugals and the trombone blast the songs of Solomon anew

So we shall dance wherever we are welted to the ventricles that maketh Venus

In your tranquility princess I shall watch you make art no matter how hard,

I seek your heart; please let me find it where I think it is hiding, in secret.

She is from a country called Nubia :-)

Nayabinghi, spinning elements on period steroids

Shards hitting ear drums with beat hemorrhoids

Splish splash dashed from Malawi to poisonous Durban

Urban graffiti torched on Tosh’s Olympic torch

Reggaemalytis premonition, mission statements

Missionary kamasutrian Nubian melodies

Black skin sin brown sugar bubbly princessness

Jah Bless!!!

Ginger

The ginger bread man, do you understand?

Clouds are falling, clowns

The rise of the garrison of the, the sun’s son is eminent, sure

The firmament needs reinforcement and a gun on Harrison and DeKorte

Outbuildings are burning, Othello and the black ram turning short

Why are you standing over there?

With three little birds licking lollipops with Iago

One two…

One two three they burp cargo, their farting words worse than it is art

Parting the partition of the ones and twos

Now do you understand, the ginger-bread-man, man?